


what comes after certainty

by cherryconke



Series: cut to the feeling [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Christmas Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, Sledding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: On the annual Fraldarius ski trip, Sylvain learns that skiing (amongst other things, like picking out the perfect gift for Felix’s brother, or saying “I love you”) isn’t as easy as it seems.—Olympics AU sequel for the Sylvix Advent Calendar.
Relationships: Background Annegrid, Background Dimiglenn - Relationship, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: cut to the feeling [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983256
Comments: 7
Kudos: 143
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	what comes after certainty

**Author's Note:**

> not required, but i do recommend you read my sylvix big bang fic, [cut to the feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165362/chapters/63666295) first for better context!
> 
> thank you [casey](https://twitter.com/eggyankee) for collabing with me + drawing the art for this fic, ily!!! 💖

“We’re here!”

Dimitri’s voice rings bright and cheery from the driver’s seat as Glenn yawns and stretches beside him. Sylvain blinks awake; Felix is still dead weight against his shoulder, his entire arm beyond numb. He can’t make anything out through the window, just their own dim reflections against the pitch-black night. 

He turns to Felix, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Hey, Felix. Wake up, we’re here.”

Felix grumbles from where his face is lodged into his shoulder. He tries to bury back into the warmth of Sylvain’s jacket, but then Dimitri opens his door and the rental car floods with crisp, cold air, spurring both of them to get into the warmth of the cabin as soon as possible.

Sylvain can’t help but whistle, low and impressed, as he steps out of the car.

He’d heard about the legendary Fraldarius family cabin, had seen pictures of it in the family photos decorating Rodrigue’s home, but seeing it for himself is a different experience altogether. It’s a log A-frame nestled into a snowy, pine-studded slope, perched above the sprawling hamlet of Chamonix lit up below. There are icicles dripping from the eaves, a red holly wreath on the door, and the entire property is blanketed in a fresh, crisp layer of snow. It’s perfectly picturesque, something out of a winter wonderland.

Dimitri’s already started unpacking the trunk, setting two rolling suitcases down on the cobblestone. “Thanks,” Sylvain says, still distracted by the view. “Not bad, is it?”

Dimitri smiles, handing over Felix’s ski bag. “Can’t complain. I’ve been coming here for most of my life, but the view never gets old.” 

Sylvain takes care not to slip on his way up the front steps as he hauls their luggage to the door. On the front porch, Glenn peers over Felix’s shoulder as he crouches down, feeling beneath the doormat with a displeased grimace on his face. “Did you text dad telling him we were on our way?” 

“Yeah, he said he’d leave a key out–” 

Felix is finally triumphant, and the gentle back-and-forth of their bickering follows them into the cabin. When Sylvain makes it through the front door with their two suitcases, he’s immediately hit with warmth and the spicy-sweet smell of gingerbread.

“Dad, we’re here,” Glenn calls out. 

Rodrigue mentioned driving up early to get the place ready, but Sylvain hadn’t expected this: a fire already crackling in the hearth and a Christmas tree twinkling brightly in the middle of the living room, so tall it nearly brushes the wood beams overhead. The cabin is big but cozy, decorated with wool blankets and overstuffed throw pillows, all warm neutrals and checked gingham. It’s beautiful, and the view continues to impress inside with floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated by the glowing lights of the village below.

“Oh, good, you made it safe!” 

Rodrigue rounds the corner, smiling cheerfully. He’s dressed in an apron that says  _ We WHISK you a Merry Christmas! _ , which gets an eye roll from Felix and a hearty laugh out of Dimitri. Sylvain tries to stifle his snort by covering it up with a cough.

Sylvain’s always adhered to a handful of rules when dating around: don’t give out keys, always leave a note the morning after, and never,  _ ever  _ meet the parents. Felix, as always, is the exception to the rule. After stepping off the plane home from Tokyo earlier that summer, the four of them had been greeted by Rodrigue with his arms full of bouquets and balloons, proudly waving a  _ Congrats Felix! Tokyo 2020 Champion!  _ sign in the air.

He’d known Felix’s relationship with his father was strained; they’d talked about it a few times in Tokyo. Sylvain’s overly qualified in the horrible father department himself, so when he first shook Rodrigue’s hand in the middle of the international terminal, he hadn’t expected to be pulled straight past a handshake and into a hug. 

“Sylvain, Dimitri, it’s good to see you both. I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Thank you for having us,” Dimitri says, cheeks blushing a deep shade of pink as Glenn starts trying to tug him up the stairs by his sweater sleeve.

“I’m tired,” Glenn complains, giving up on his attempt and fully draping himself over Dimitri’s shoulders from the third stair up. “I want a nap.”

“You were just asleep,” Felix points out, pulling his phone from his pocket. “And Annette and Ingrid should get here soon.”

Rodrigue waves them off. “Go, go, get settled. I’ll have food and drinks down here when you’re ready.”

“Dad, I already told you we ate dinner on the road,” Felix complains, already hauling one of his bags up the stairs after Dimitri and Glenn. 

Sylvain catches a brief moment of disappointment flicker over Rodrigue’s face before he straightens his smile. “Just some snacks I picked up, that’s all.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Fraldarius,” Sylvain says graciously, struggling under the weight of Felix’s ski bag. 

“Now, just Rodrigue is fine,” Rodrigue protests, though he sounds a little bit pleased. 

Their room is decorated the same as downstairs, comfortable and mostly flannel. Felix flops facedown onto the quilt while Sylvain pulls open his bag and starts to transfer his sweaters into the empty set of drawers. He’s almost finished unpacking when he hears the unmistakable sound of a car engine coming up the long driveway. 

Sylvain turns towards Felix, who’s since fallen asleep on the bed. He looks adorable like this, his cheek squished against the quilt, ponytail half slipping out across his neck. Sylvain can’t help but stroke across his cheek gently, smiling as he gradually squirms awake.

“I think Ingrid and Annette are here,” he murmurs.

Felix groans, pulling himself up with a sleepy sigh. Sylvain kisses his forehead, pleased when Felix leans into his chest for a brief moment before he drags himself away. “Better go save them from my dad.”

Downstairs is a whirlwind of activity; cold air and snowflakes blow in through the front door as Ingrid drags her bags inside, Dimitri following behind her with a suitcase in each hand. Rodrigue calls  _ make yourselves at home!  _ from the kitchen as the bright beep of an oven timer goes off. Annette greets each of them with a hug and a kiss to each cheek. “We made it!”

“So you did,” Sylvain grins, helping her tug off her coat. “How was the drive?”

“Well, besides Ingrid almost hitting that deer–”

“Keyword  _ almost,”  _ Ingrid interjects, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire.

“–it was great!” Annette finishes, beaming as she hugs Felix. “How about you?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Made it all in one piece. Dimitri’s a... surprisingly good driver.”

“What high praise,” Annette laughs, bright and bubbly.

Glenn pops his head around the corner. “Guys, there’s snacks.”

“Thank god,” Ingrid groans appreciatively.

They crowd around the kitchen island, where Rodrigue – much to Felix’s embarrassment and Glenn’s boredom – regales them with the history of the hamlet while they steadily work their way through the massive charcuterie board laid out, piled high with meats and cheese. They’re two bottles of red in and Sylvain’s pleasantly full, listening to Rodrigue and Dimitri discuss the very first winter Olympics, which took place on the mountain they’re skiing tomorrow. 

Sylvain leans over to nudge his knee against Felix’s beneath the table. “How long have you been skiing?” 

Felix shrugs, popping another piece of prosciutto into his mouth. “Ever since I can remember.”

“What about you, Sylvain?” Rodrigue hands a bowl of crackers down the table to Ingrid.

This startles a laugh out of him. “Me? I’ve never been. Tomorrow will be my first time.”

When Felix had asked him to come with to the annual Fraldarius family ski trip this year, Sylvain had been thrilled and just a little terrified. Taking a holiday in the winter wonderland of the French Alps with his new boyfriend sounded beyond dreamy; breaking his legs on skis or losing a finger to frostbite on the side of a mountain did not. 

Winter sports were never in the Gautier repertoire – their family tended to travel south for the winter, so Sylvain’s spent more New Year parties getting drunk on a beach than frolicking in the snow. Felix has spent the past couple of weeks reassuring him that “the skiing part will be fine,” and that he’d pick it up “like that.”

Sylvain tries not to let it show through his smile, but the look on Rodrigue’s face shakes his confidence a bit.

“Really? Not even once?” Rodrigue asks.

“No,” Sylvain says, but then Felix squeezes his knee beneath the table. It’s the smallest thing, but he’s filled with warmth at the gesture and smiles back at Felix. “But I’ll have a good teacher.”

—

As it turns out, Felix isn’t just “good” at skiing.

“Are there  _ any _ sports you’re bad at?” Sylvain gasps, thoroughly out of breath. 

Felix flies in a perfect circle around him, coming to a stop with a little cascade of powdery snow falling across the tops of Sylvain’s rental skis. He grins, all sharp and competitive. 

“Nope,” he says easily. “Coming?”

His first run, Sylvain trips over his skis and falls on his ass the second he stands up to get off the lift. The cold immediately starts to seep into the little gaps between his jacket and gloves and around the corners of his goggles as he scrambles to get out of the way of the oncoming chairlift. Felix just skis ahead, leaving a flawless ribbon of upturned snow behind him. Sylvain tries to mimic him, but all of his limbs feel like jelly, clumsy and unfamiliarly heavy strapped into his ski boots. 

Their second run, Sylvain manages to keep his balance long enough to make it over to the start of the slope. It’s the easiest run on Mont Blanc, but from here it looks like a steep dropoff. Sylvain’s not afraid of heights and he’s used to diving into things headfirst, but the groomed, hard-packed snow is decidedly less forgiving than pool water. 

Felix maneuvers gracefully through the trees and all Sylvain can do is watch, mesmerized by how completely in control he is – cutting corners close but always pulling back at the last second. The look on his face reminds Sylvain of how he’d grit his teeth and stick the tip of his tongue out in concentration during gymnastics events.

It’s a bluebird day – something Dimitri remarked earlier that morning, cheerfully helping Rodrigue pile eggs and toast onto plates at the crack of dawn. He and Glenn had skipped the slopes in favor of going to the Swedish spa, and with his legs shaking on his third run down, Sylvain almost regrets not joining them. Felix waits for him at the bottom of the hill, tapping his poles against the edge of his skis with the slightest edge of impatience. 

“Again?”

Sylvain grins, coming to a wobbly stop in front of him (without falling on his face, thank you very much). “Nah. I think I’ll go warm up for a bit, these boots are killing me.”

Felix tries to hide the way his face lights up, finally free to go try the new black diamond run he’s been talking about for the last month. “I’ll try to find Ingrid.”

“Go, go, have fun,” Sylvain shoos him off, smiling despite his exhaustion.

—

Inside the lodge, he finds warmth, the bar, and Annette, in that order. 

Her rental boots are kicked off beneath the table and she’s massaging out her calves when Sylvain ungracefully falls into the chair opposite hers. Her hair is windswept beneath her beanie, flecks of snow melting in her hair, cheeks thoroughly flushed from the cold. 

Since he started dating Felix, Sylvain’s made fast friends with Annette. She’s bubbly and bright with a fierce determination and drive to succeed that surpasses almost anyone Sylvain’s ever met, including Felix. In a strange way, it gives him heart that she’s  _ also _ struggling with this.

“Is this your first time too?” Sylvain asks.

Annette makes a face, scrunching her nose up as she tugs the wet hem of her ski pants back down. “Nah. Ingrid and Felix have been dragging me up here for the past three or four years.”

Sweat drips off his brow as he tries – and fails – to unfasten the first plasticky clip on his ski boots. “Not your favorite, I take it?”

“Oh, the trip is great, but the skiing part isn’t my favorite. We can skip out on the other days, but Ingrid always manages to drag me out here on the first day.” Annette shakes her head, laughing a little. 

Sylvain finally manages to unclip one of his boots, kicking it off to join Annette’s pile. “Look at us. Two Olympians, and we can’t even handle the bunny slope.”

They both dissolve into laughter. When the bartender comes around, they both order hot toddies, eager to warm up their hands. 

Sylvain holds his steaming mug out towards hers. “To skiing,” he says. “Or, to never skiing again.”

Annette grins. “Cheers!”

The view out of the lodge windows is vast and sweeping, just about one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. Gondola wires and lift chairs criss-cross all along the mountainside, and the fluorescent neons of skiers speeding down the slopes flash bright in the December sun. Sylvain feels a hundred times more grateful for the scenery now that he’s in the cozy warmth of the lodge with the pleasant burn of whiskey and honey in his throat.

“So,” Annette leans in after a few rounds of drinks. “You and Felix.”

Sylvain smiles, slow and tipsy. “Yes?”

“Have you told him yet?” Annette tilts her head to the side. “I’m assuming no, since he hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

_ I think I love him,  _ Sylvain had realized out loud one drunken night a few weeks ago. Felix was up at the bar, getting another round of drinks for their table. It had been just another Friday night, unremarkable other than Dimitri and Dedue joining them for drinks and apps out at a new little pub by Sylvain’s apartment. Annette had been the only one close enough to hear, but after well-meaning, delighted teasing, she’d sworn that she’d keep his secret.

“No,” Sylvain admits. Annette’s face falls in disappointment. They’ve had this talk before:  _ communication is the key to all good relationships! You have to tell him how you feel!  _ “Not yet, I mean– it just has to feel right, I think.” 

Between their two different training schedules, finding a cat-sitter for Felix’s newly adopted kitten, Noodle, and packing for this trip, Sylvain feels like he’s barely been able to take a breath, let alone sit down and sort out his feelings for Felix into something he can properly articulate and find the right words for. Because he  _ has _ to find the right words. Felix doesn’t deserve anything less.

Annette’s brow furrows in a thoughtful frown. “What if you told him here?”

Sylvain almost chokes on his next sip of whiskey. “Here?”

She looks much too pleased with herself as she nods. “Oh, come on, why not?”

And as hard as Sylvain searches for an excuse, he can’t find one. He’s never felt like this before, not over the course of dozens of relationships and even more flings. And voicing his genuine feelings?  _ Terrifying.  _ So he does what he does best: he changes the subject.

“What about you? I haven’t asked how the whole Ingrid thing is going.”

Annette’s cheeks flush pink, seeing right through him. “Don’t change the subject! And I already told you, I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

They both know the words are as hollow as they sound. Sylvain suspects Ingrid’s not as oblivious to the way Annette looks at her as it seems, but every time he’s asked Annette about it, she brushes his questions off casually. Like she’s so used to the way things are she can barely fathom things could be different. 

“Do you want me to say something to her?” Sylvain wonders aloud. 

Panic flashes in Annette’s eyes. “No!” 

“Okay, okay, I won’t, don’t worry.” 

They sip their drinks, lapsing into a comfortable, pondering sort of silence. Sylvain thinks about the way Felix’s face had lit up at the bottom of the hill on his last run, cheeks flushed from the cold. And an idea strikes him, borne of fuzzy warmth and the strength of three hot toddies.

“Let’s make a pact,” Sylvain starts. Annette quirks her brow, interested. “If there’s a good opportunity on this trip, I’ll tell Felix how I feel, and you’ll tell Ingrid how you feel.”

Her mouth twists into a thoughtful frown. All she and Ingrid really need is a push, a nudge in the right direction. All he needs is to be vulnerable – something he’s notoriously bad at – and not fuck it up. Sylvain watches, sipping his drink carefully, as her expression changes to something fiercer; more determined. 

When Annette reaches out for his hand, resolve is written across her face.

“Alright. Deal.”

—

“Ready?”

Ingrid’s voice rings clear and loud over the hill. It’s silent save for the crunch of powdery snow beneath their sleds, the shift of their nylon jackets and snowsuits as they readjust, trying to get into position.

“Yeah,” Sylvain calls back, muffled from the scarf he’s got pulled up over his nose. 

“Okay, three, two–”

“Wait!” Dimitri calls. He’s struggling to get his feet tucked into the sled he’s sharing with Glenn, who looks snug in his lap, holding onto the front handle. Felix snorts from where he’s sitting between Sylvain’s knees, pressed into his chest, but it’s lacking any real animosity.

It had been Ingrid’s idea to hike out to their old sledding hill, spurred on by Annette’s enthusiasm. Much to Felix’s mortification, Rodrigue had pulled out the baby photo albums right after Annette squealed over an old framed photograph of Felix and Glenn together in the hallway – Glenn beaming at the camera in a sled with baby Felix sitting on the ground near him, wrapped up in an overly puffy onesie, shoveling snow into his mouth with a mittened fist. 

So they’d all strapped on snowshoes, dug the ancient-looking sleds out of the shed, and followed the little trail winding into the treeline. The hill Ingrid dragged them to hadn’t looked like much at the bottom, but from the top Sylvain can see the appeal: it’s a smooth, gradual slope, free of any trees or drop-offs, perfect for a long race down.

“Okay,” Dimitri says, finally wedging his boot into the sled. “Ready.”

Sylvain feels the wood beneath them creak as Felix readjusts in his lap. “Felix,” he whispers, “Are these safe?”

“Alright,” Ingrid calls. “Three–”

“Probably?” Felix guesses, shifting in their sled so that Sylvain can easily push them over the top of the hill.

“Two–”

Sylvain hugs Felix closer to his chest. “What do you mean,  _ probably?” _

“One–”

Snow crunches beneath their sled, strangely ominous.

“Go!”

But then Felix’s hair is whipping at his face and his eyes are watering so bad he can barely see, let alone breathe, and the air is so cold in his lungs that it takes his breath away. His gloved fingers tangle with Felix’s on the handle bar, and from behind him he can hear Ingrid and Annette _whoop_ together, followed by Dimitri’s deep, rumbling shout. 

It’s probably, definitely not safe, but Sylvain finds himself laughing louder than he has in a long time, getting a mouthful of Felix’s hair as he squeezes his hands through their gloves. The sound gets swallowed by the rush of wind in his ears and the sharp, loud crunch of snow beneath them.

They’re all breathless when they come to a slow stop at the bottom as the hill naturally flattens out, first Annette and Ingrid, then Felix and Sylvain, with Dimitri and Glenn riding in close on their tail. Sylvain catches Ingrid grinning against the side of Annette’s head, laughing as they slowly spin to a stop. 

Felix twists around to look back at him, smiling big and crooked. Warm fondness spreads through Sylvain, his chest hot with it, heart pounding with adrenaline and love. He can’t help but lean in for a kiss, smiling wide against Felix’s mouth when they pull away for air, their breath puffing up in billowy clouds around them.

“Again?” Felix asks. There’s snowflakes catching in his lashes and it makes Sylvain grin so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Again.”

—

When they get back to the house, they ditch their sleds and snowshoes in the shed and head upstairs for warm showers. And then it’s time for the part Sylvain’s been dreading since Felix invited him on this trip in the first place: the gift exchange.

A month ago, he’d drawn Glenn’s name out of the little bowl of paper slips they’d passed around one night at Felix’s apartment. Sylvain had been positively giddy to participate with all of Felix’s friends, but his face had fallen upon reading Glenn’s name scrawled on his slip. For the past few weeks, he’s carried around the daunting weight of finding the perfect gift for Felix’s older brother.

For as much time as they’ve spent together, Sylvain’s always felt like Glenn’s been a bit of a mystery to him. He’s never brought up the morning Sylvain walked in on them in Tokyo, and for awhile, Sylvain thought he might have even forgotten about it – but he’s also noticed that his jokes always seem to fall flat with Glenn, and he’s caught Glenn staring at him with the same inscrutable expression on his face as always.

He tried not asking Felix for help. He really did. He tried finding the best, most Glenn gift ever all on his own. But after a week and a half of window shopping and browsing the internet late into the night, Sylvain had decided to shelf his pride and ask Felix. They wound up picking something Sylvain is almost positive will score him good points with Glenn. 

Ingrid plays Santa, handing out everyone’s gifts one at a time. Annette opens a sloppily-wrapped parcel covered in ribbons and bows and unfolds a brightly colored sweater, all green and pink and red.

“Oh,” Annette exclaims, holding it up in front of her, “it’s so cute!”

When she flips it around, Sylvain can’t help but laugh. Even Felix snorts. It’s decorated in the same style as an ugly Christmas sweater, but stitched on the front in white are the words  _ Carly Sleigh Jepsen.  _ Everyone’s eyes flick around the circle – Sylvain knows it wasn’t Felix, and Dimitri or Glenn probably don’t even know who CRJ is, let alone that she’s one of Annette’s favorites, which only leaves–

“Ingrid?” Annette asks. Ingrid nods, blushing a deep pink.

She immediately pulls it on, swapping it out for her sweatshirt. It clashes horribly with her hair, but she’s beaming at Ingrid, who looks slightly stunned and faintly pleased with herself. Sylvain has to will himself not to wink at both of them from across the coffee table. 

Ingrid goes next, gleefully pulling a big box of snacks from the fancy fromagerie across town out of a giant gift bag, and then it’s Felix’s turn. There’s a little smile on his face when he pulls a cardboard box out of the wrapping paper, neatly packed with little glass bottles. He flips it over, curious.

“A make-your-own hot sauce kit?”

Felix looks around the circle of who’s left: Annette, Dimitri, Glenn, and Sylvain.

“Annette?” He guesses. She shakes her head, trying to conceal her smile by taking a sip of hot cocoa. Felix turns towards Glenn and Dimitri. “Glenn?”

Glenn grins, delighted. “Nope. Not me.”

“Okay, Dimitri, then?”

Dimitri nods, his cheeks a deep red.

“I–” Felix starts, clearly surprised. “Thanks.”

Dimitri looks quietly pleased as he opens up a hand-knitted scarf and hat from Annette. Finally, Sylvain and Glenn are the only two left with gifts in their laps. Sylvain’s is tall and heavy, wrapped in plain brown craft paper and tied with a red ribbon. Glenn fiddles with the painstakingly crafted bow Sylvain attached to the handles of the gift bag.

“Looks like you two got each other!” Annette chirps from the hearth. Sylvain desperately wishes he could read the look on Felix’s face as he rips into the wrapping paper. What could Glenn have possibly gotten him without Felix’s help?

Sylvain reaches into the box, letting out a nervous laugh he didn’t realize he’d been holding until now. “Wine! Thanks, man.”

But it’s not just wine – the bottle is wrapped in knitted koozie designed to look like a sweater, complete with the words  _ Live, Laugh, Love  _ printed in loopy cursive on the front. It’s one of the tackiest things Sylvain’s ever seen, but when he slips it off to look at the label he just blinks, speechless.  _ Dom Perignon, Vintage, 2010. _

“Damn,” Ingrid whistles.

“Wow,” Annette says.

Sylvain’s thankfully saved from saying anything else, because Glenn starts combing through the tissue paper and finds a small parcel in the bottom of the bag. When he finally rips off the last of the wrapping, Sylvain can see the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

It’s a set of cat toys for Meatball – Felix’s idea – but they’re homemade, felted wool and stuffed with organic catnip and lavender, the fanciest kind Sylvain could find on Etsy. One is a little gray cat wearing an intricately stitched BLUE LIONS sweater. It’s pair is a small stuffed lion in a matching blue scarf. They’d cost Sylvain more than he’d  _ ever _ thought he’d spend on a cat toy, but based on Glenn’s expression, it was worth it.

“Wow,” he says, turning them over in his hands. “These are cool. Thanks, Sylvain.”

Felix nudges his side, smiling. Sylvain grins, feeling light and giddy.

—

They spend the better part of the week fully enjoying the cabin: lounging by the fireplace, running with wet feet in the snow out to the hot tub, and scarfing down Rodrigue’s cooking, which Glenn says has “vastly improved” since he and Felix gifted him a set of cooking classes for Christmas last year. Sylvain’s grateful for the rare time off from training – he finally gets started on his ever-growing to-read list – and Felix thrives on the mountain, hitting the slopes almost every day with Ingrid. He comes back soaked with snow and more carefree than Sylvain’s ever seen him.

The night of New Year’s eve sneaks up on them all, and before Sylvain knows it Annette’s wrangling him into hanging streamers across the doorways and sliding  _ 2021  _ headbands and glasses onto their faces. Every year the village does a midnight lantern parade, and according to Rodrigue, the cabin’s wraparound deck is the best view of it.

Which is how Sylvain finds himself bundled in the heaviest jacket he packed, snow crunching beneath his boots, holding Felix close to his chest as they all wait for the parade to start. Ingrid and Annette made mulled wine for the occasion, and the scent of cinnamon and orange is warm and spicy in the air, steam billowing up around them from their mugs.

“So, no fireworks?” Sylvain murmurs into Felix’s ear.

He shrugs. “There’s a few at the end, but it’s mostly lanterns. It’s always been like this, ever since I remember.”

“Have you ever spent New Year’s in the city?” Sylvain asks, curious. He’s rung in the new year absolutely smashed more times than not, but there’s something charming about the quiet coziness of the cabin, enjoying the party in the streets below from a distance instead of being smack-dab in the middle of it.

“No,” Felix turns in his arms to smirk at him. “But this is pretty good too.”

“Look,” Annette calls, pointing down at the village. “It’s starting!”

Sylvain’s always liked New Years. The promise of something new; the little spark of hope at the prospect of a better year ahead. One by one, little flames flicker into existence below, until it feels like half the town is aglow with warm lantern light.

“Wow,” Sylvain breathes. He finds Felix’s gloved fingers and threads his own through the gaps, pulling him in close. 

“Told you,” Felix murmurs. 

Sylvain laughs, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

It’s beautiful, mesmerizing in the same way watching a fire is. They all watch the slow shuffle of lanterns wind through the streets, finally coming to stop around the giant Christmas tree in the middle of town square. The countdown is faintly audible from all the way up here, a muffled  _ trois, deux, un!  _ that ends in clapping and cheers and a small scattering of fireworks over the village square. 

“I never asked, will you be my new year’s kiss?” Sylvain teases.

Felix scoffs, but he turns to look up at him, nose bright red from the cold. “You missed the countdown,” he points out.

“I’ll try to make up for it,” Sylvain murmurs, grinning as he leans in for a kiss. Felix’s lips are chapped from the cold, but his mouth is warm, familiar. By now Sylvain’s learned the shape of him, the way he leans into it, always hungry for more. It’s easy to lose track of time when he’s kissing Felix. It’s happened before – Sylvain finds himself running late to practice now more than ever, getting distracted and pulled back into bed in the mornings as he’s about to leave. It’s hard to pull away when Felix is so damn kissable.

When they finally break apart, they’re alone on the deck. Dimitri and Glenn left to go to bed right after the fireworks, and Annette and Ingrid have disappeared off somewhere. The lanterns have all gone out in the village below and it’s nothing but him, and Felix, and the big night sky above, stars twinkling all around them. 

_ Say it. Now’s the perfect time. _

Sylvain opens his mouth to start, but then Felix takes his hand and tugs him towards the door, complaining into his scarf. “Okay, I’m freezing.”

Sylvain almost stops him, asks him to stay, but he hesitates a moment too long and Felix pulls him into the warmth of the cabin. On the couch, Annette and Ingrid are curled up into each other. Sylvain can barely make out their fingers twined together in Annette’s lap, Ingrid’s head tucked neatly into her neck as they watch the fire die down. They don’t even look up, lost in their own little world.

Warmth blooms in Sylvain’s chest when he realizes that they’d disappeared earlier to talk – that Annette had taken the leap and gone for it. And it had clearly gone well, if both of their pleased smiles are anything to go by.

— 

Sylvain can’t stop thinking about it – how he’d missed the perfect chance – as they get ready for bed. It plagues him as Felix hands him his toothbrush from the bathroom counter, bothers him as they settle in between the flannel sheets. They curl together like they do every night: Felix’s cold feet slipped between Sylvain’s calves, the wild mess of their hair tangled together on the pillow. Sylvain’s sure Felix can hear his heart beating loud and far too fast in his chest.

“Hey, Felix?”

“Yeah?” Felix hums against his chest.

“Thanks for bringing me with you up here. Even though I’m  _ terrible _ at skiing.”

Felix sits up a little, brows furrowed. His thumb smooths over Sylvain’s, sweetly reassuring. “You’ve never skied before, of course you were going to be terrible.”

The way he says it, so matter-of-fact, pulls a startled laugh out of Sylvain. Felix burrows back into his chest again, and Sylvain can feel the sleepy, satisfied curve of his smile through his t-shirt. 

“Hey, Felix?”

“Mm,” he mumbles, close to sleep.

Sylvain thinks about the whirlwind of this year. Going to Tokyo. Winning his first Olympic medal. Meeting Felix. How he’d been so nervous at qualifiers in Rennes. Nervous that he wouldn’t make the cut, that one of the few times he truly tried his hardest, it still wouldn’t be enough. Uncertain about his future; second-guessing if he had the drive, the tenacity, the will to make it there. How he’d somehow proven himself wrong, time and time again.

And how, when it comes to Felix, he’s never been more certain.

“I love you,” Sylvain says.

It doesn’t feel breath-taking or world-changing. Here, curled up in their cramped little bed, snow falling outside the window, Felix pressed up against him, it just feels right. 

**Author's Note:**

> [retweet the fic]() / [retweet the art]()
> 
> \+ more sylvix holiday fics here: [@sylvixcalendar](https://twitter.com/SylvixCalendar)


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